


tell me every terrible thing you ever did

by jugheadjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, Suburbs, bettonica is there on the sidelines, csa mention with grundy but nothing graphic, episode 2 fluff, fred andrews is so pure and good, i say love a lot in this fic but it could be platonic, rainy night car rides, they really just talk in the car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: Archie drops Jughead off at his house after Pop's and the pep rally.





	

The rain had eased off by the time he pulled up outside Jughead’s house, and the act of doing so is so familiar he forgets for a moment he hasn’t been here in months, that he hasn’t seen the front or the inside of this house since the summer. It only comes to him as he’s squinting out the rain-streaked windshield how he hadn’t even had to glance at the number over the mailbox to know that he was here. His tires must count every revolution down the street to Jughead’s house, his car instinctively stopping just a foot past the lawn, so that Jug wouldn’t have to walk on the wet grass up to his house. The way to Juggie’s house was as natural as breathing.

That was the grass they used to lie on their backs in and look at the clouds, and that was the sidewalk they used to pitch marbles on, and that was the porch where they’d eaten popsicles for every summer as long as he could remember, and suddenly all the hurt between them feels as small and far away as the stars coming out, and the problem of Grundy and the gunshot is nothing at all. 

They’d spilled out of Pop’s with Betty and Veronica around 2am, and though, strictly speaking, Pop’s was supposed to close at one, the owner hadn’t seemed to have any reservations about letting them loiter. He’d even offered Jughead a burger on the house, but Archie had insisted on paying. Pop had given him the most genuine smile Archie had seen on him since Jason’s death, and he knew that the man was happy to see him and Jughead back together. 

Veronica had sped off with Betty in her car, which had left Archie to drive Jughead home. He had worried it would be painful, but Jughead’s company was as warm and as familiar as it had been since the pep rally, and they had made the kind of small talk they’d always made since they were kids. A couple times he cracks a joke that gets a chuckle out of his friend and Jug’s smile – rare, but genuine – is like seeing the sun. He doesn’t want the car ride to end, curses the few short blocks between his house and his best friend’s, and his throat is thick with love for him as the car stops next to the basketball hoop and he waits for Jug to get out.

But Jug doesn’t reach for the handle. He turns to Archie in the dark with a “thanks for the ride” beginning on his lips, and that action too is so familiar that Archie is flooded with a need to speak, to keep Jughead at the car with him at any cost.

“So-” He’s hurrying the offer, tripping over his tongue like the klutz he is, talking as fast as possible to keep the moment there. “Considering it sounds like there’s a lot of hamburgers between this and us renegotiating this friendship, I’d like to speed the process up if I can, and- Can I buy you a hamburger tomorrow?”

He waits for Jughead to refuse, but his friend just regards him with a half-smirk. “Make it a double and you have a deal.”

Relief crashes like a wave, the same relief he’s been feeling all night, and he wants to get down on his knees and thank whatever deity listens that this thing isn’t broken.

The car idles in the dark and their breath fogs the glass. Jughead’s hoodie is still slightly damp from the rain. He thinks of the dream he’s had so many times that goes just like this, only that ends with Jughead’s lips under his.

He jumps suddenly. Jughead has stretched a hand out for his face and he hadn’t seen it.  

“Sorry,” apologizes Jug, setting his hand back in his lap. He nods at Archie’s black eye. “That looks like it’s healing.”

He’d forgotten the shiner. Archie reaches up with his own fingers and prods the sensitive skin, wondering who else had ever stuck up for Jughead when he wasn’t around. He makes a pact to do it more often, football friends be damned, and a sudden spike of guilt breaks through the dam in his chest.

 “He pushes you around a lot, doesn’t he?”

 Jughead shrugs. “He has his reasons.”

 Archie’s troubled, but doesn’t push. Jughead leans his head back against the headrest of the seat, seemingly as unwilling to get out of the car as Archie was to let him go. He remembers being nine and his father telling him how lucky he is to have Juggie, how thankful Fred is that Archie, an only child, had found someone who could be his brother.

 “Arch?”

“Yeah, Jug?” The nicknames come as easily as if they were still seven. Old habits were hard to shake.

“Grundy…”

His throat tightens, but he nods. “I’m going to Weatherbee tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jughead’s eyes are shining into him. “You know whatever happens, I’m here for you, all right?”

He continues quietly. “It’s fucked up what she’s doing to you. She doesn’t have the right.”

“I know,” he lies, eyes falling to Jughead’s hands, which are clenched into tight, shaking fists around the long sleeves of his hoodie. “Hey, don’t do that.” He unwinds Jughead’s fingers from the damp fabric, being gentle. Jughead’s fingers are cold as ice.

Their eyes meet, and Jughead’s are somber and serious. But then he grins, and the eyes crinkle up into a smile as familiar as marbles on the sidewalk, and he opens the door as if none of it had ever happened, as if this were another day after school, as if they had always been friends.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Arch.”

 He waits idling at the curb until Jughead gets in.

* * *

 

“Arch?” It’s his father, padding into the kitchen wrapped in a bathrobe. “I thought we said midnight.”

 “Sorry, Dad.” His dad had never been a stickler for curfew, but after Jason’s murder they’d set a reasonable one. Archie pours himself a glass of juice. “I was with Jug.”  

 “Oh, yeah?” His father tries, and fails, to keep the delighted surprise off his face. “What were you two talking about?”

 Archie drains the glass. “Just stuff.”

 “Stuff about the two of you, or…?”

 “Come on, dad, we’re guys.” Truthfully he can’t remember what he and Jughead had talked about – their conversation had been so wonderfully inane, so empty of tension. “I’m sorry about curfew, it won’t happen again.”

 “If it does, I’ll know where to find him.” Fred takes the glass from his son. “I’ll wash this. Head on up.”

 He thinks about the gunshot for the first time since the pep rally, thinks about what’s waiting for him to do tomorrow morning, but suddenly it seems altogether less frightening and he nods as he leaves the kitchen, Fred following him to the stairs.

 “Arch, How are things with you and Jug?

 Delicate, is the right answer, there are a lot of things that are too complicated to say, but Archie pauses with the banister under his right hand, remembering way Jug had snagged a handful of fries off his plate at Pop’s, a younger Jughead pointing out the little dipper from their vantage point on his front grass.

“I think,” he says, “They’re looking up.”


End file.
